Swing, and a miss
by KyinHI
Summary: Finale speculation fic, turned slightly A/U post-ep. It's been almost a year to the day since she last sat in this playground and wept for all she had ruined. I just want you, she had said. She has done an awful job of proving it these last few weeks. *Now Complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Some more finale speculation from me. It is likely? Eh, probably not. How I envision it might fade to black.**

* * *

They decide to meet at the swings. She wants to take it as a hopeful sign that he'd agreed; it's a place where their relationship has always moved forward. Eventually anyway.

She puts the car in park and looks toward the arranged meeting place. He's here already. Shoulders slumped and head hanging as he twists and sways in the breeze. He looks defeated. She feels nauseous.

It had all snowballed so fast, and it had begun with her confession of love. He'd made a rapid retreat since then. What in the hell had happened? How could they have gone from that… to this? But maybe it hadn't been so fast after all.

Small things, piling up over time. Adding to a mental list that she wasn't even cognizant she had been tallying until she had gotten the call.

Shoved in a closet when she had stood tall and been willing to greet his mother wearing nothing but an open shirt, a pillow and a smile. That had stung. But she'd been too overcome by the lingering sensation of his kisses, the remnant and fulfilling burn between her legs, to bring it up. Later, his look of utter adoration and pleading for forgiveness when he'd come over, tail between his legs to apologize, had closed the door on that discussion.

A kiss with a floozy, that hadn't ended with him pushing her away but instead with him lying back on the couch, straddled and covered in lipstick. Yeah, that still chaps her ass. She had managed to push away a two hundred pound man; he couldn't have resisted the hundred pound strumpet? Especially considering his reaction to recent events, that _really_ burns.

Of course, her situation was different, her guilty conscience reminds her. _T__hey_ were different by the time Vaughn had shown up and she probably deserves a lot of the sideways glances she's been on the receiving end of lately. Nothing's been the same since Vaughn.

Then there was his unwillingness to stand up to his ex-wife despite multiple opportunities. The words the redhead had spoken as she breezed back out the door had stayed with her since; goading her every time he had avoided a serious discussion. Words that she never would have had to hear if he'd for a moment thought to put her first.

And finally, what has hit her the hardest, and what keeps sending her into fits of uncertainty about where they are headed, is his failure to allow her in when he needed the help most. When Alexis had gone missing, and he'd run off after her. She understands that need, but he hadn't even thought to call. She would have gone in a heartbeat. When he'd broken out of prison and she'd been more than ready to help, had a similar plan of her own and a willingness to risk it all if it meant he wouldn't fall prey to Tyson. If it meant he would live.

If only he'd asked. If only they'd talked.

A pattern had formed while she hadn't been paying attention and it had taken an alluring billionaire, a lucrative job offer, and the utter embarrassment of being passed over for a video game, for a remote controlled tank, because of a ridiculous curse, to open her eyes.

Once, even the slightest prospect of her being naked in the near future would have had him scurrying to silence phones and lock doors, whisk her away to the nearest flat surface.

It had been a slow spiral down into complacency. Until they lay next to each other every morning, hands linked and mouths melded; lovers joined, but blissfully unaware of the gaping chasm forming between their minds.

And now? She has options. And decisions to make.

She wasn't aware that she had any, or even that she desired them. Being a cop was her life. Not until it was all laid out before her like some beckoning siren in an endless and deep blue sea. In the end it came down to two choices. Head… or heart?

She wasn't stupid enough to think that she could have both. She'd crossed that idea off the list immediately. He'd never leave New York, and she'd never ask him to. His home was here, his family.

And hers.

Agreeing to the interview had been easy though. It was just an interview, a chance to feel things out. Telling Castle had been harder. So hard that in the end she hadn't let on at all. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she already knew what her choice would be. She assuaged her guilt by telling herself that it was nothing, that she was just testing the waters.

Still, she had wanted to know that she was capable. Validation was a heady feeling. One she hadn't felt so much recently. Not from Castle anyway. Vaughn had showered her with flattery and Agent Stack had called her exceptional, calling into question everything that she thought she knew. Everything that she thought she wanted. Opening her eyes to the possibility of more, of different and fresh. Not stale. Like she feared her and Castle had become.

Like she feared they would stay if he kept avoiding 'the talk'.

So she'd taken the now rare opportunity of an evening apart and slunk out of town like a thief in the night. She'd just wanted to _know_. She'd never be able to live without at least knowing what her peers thought she was capable of.

She'd hopped back on a morning express jet and been back in time for a late breakfast. None of this would have happened had she just emptied out her pockets when she arrived back at JFK. When she took off her coat, or when she got home. Perhaps a small part of her wanted him to find out. He's not the only one afraid to start a conversation.

Guilt rumbles in her belly, and she takes a sip of the now lukewarm soda sitting in the cup holder; it's not her preferred coffee, but it eases the gnawing queasiness and gives her the strength to get up out of the car and go to him. At the very least he deserves an explanation for her recent behavior.

He catches sight of her as she's halfway across the park and she gives a small wave in greeting, tries to muster up a smile. He gives her the same look he had when he had found the boarding pass. Confusion, anger, and a glimmer of hope; his look pleads for an easy explanation, a stress-free way out of this mess.

There's not. They've tried and failed at easy. They need to talk. Really talk.

"Castle, I… Hey."

She smiles, tries to catch his eye and sits heavily into the swing next to him when he doesn't even bother to raise his head. Facing the opposite direction so she can at least look at him and gauge his reactions while they talk, she begins. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice insolent and laced with sarcasm. "You call, I follow. Right?"

She takes a deep breath and runs a hand through her hair. She deserved that and she won't take the bait. They've fought enough.

"I'm sorry."

It's a start. It's well overdue. And she is.

He grunts in reply, drags his feet through the dirt below the swing.

"This job… Rick, this job is a fantastic opportunity and I… I want it but there's something else I want too..."

"No, you're right," he replies, ice dripping in his words. "It is a great opportunity. You should go. Take it."

Lead settles in her stomach, heavy and unyielding. Her fingers shake around the metal rings of the chain and she wonders how the swing manages to hold her up; how it's not collapsing under the weight of her burdens. Every contradicting thought, every word of wisdom she'd listened to over the past few days had only cemented her decision.

To stay.

Because despite all of their agreements that this was a once in a lifetime job offer, that she was right to want it, the one thing she took away from each conversation had been the urge to throw up and run into his arms. And now… now the final piece of the puzzle, the person who matters the most, is telling her the same thing. She doesn't know what to think. Where is the man who said that the heart wants what the heart wants? The man who told her that they just had to find their way.

But there's something he doesn't seem to know. Something that the man who spends an inordinate amount of time observing her _should_ know. And it's the one thing that she wants most of all. Above all else.

The biggest opportunity of her life.

"Look, Castle, I _want _to take the job, I'm not gonna lie."

He chuffs out a derisive laugh and she grips the chains harder. The metal clangs under the pressure and the platform rocks under her bottom. She sways, and the nausea is back.

She deserved that too. It's not the first time she has lied to him to try and preserve his feelings or to avoid talking about an issue. But it makes her mad anyway, because she's _trying_ and feels sick over it and though he agreed to meet her here, it seems like for him it was more of a formality than a chance to repair what they've broken. It makes her mad because he _knows_ what these swings mean to her; he knows that this is where she chose him above all else.

"Damn it, Rick! Will you just listen to what I am trying to tell you for a moment? I want us to work… long-term. And I want to know where we are going because it's important, and for weeks, months even, I have been trying to subtly get that message across because that's what we do; subtext and hiding behind metaphors. But Castle, I'm late and everything has changed now and I need to know before..."

Ugh! She didn't mean to spit it all out like that. She had meant to gently ease him into the idea. Smooth things over before going for broke.

"Beckett, save it," he cuts her off. "Long-distance isn't going to work and we both know it. I love you Kate, but I should go now. Why prolong this agony? There's nothing left to say."

He stands, and lays a gentle to kiss to her forehead. He's saying goodbye and a single tear breaks free and slips down her cheek.

"You don't want to keep the Attorney General waiting," he murmurs as his lips leave her crown and his thumb brushes down her jaw. "I'll miss you."

This isn't at all what she wants.

What is he doing? She needs to say something. He needs to stop. This is important. The most important thing ever.

But her mouth won't move. The words are clogged up in the back of her throat. She doesn't want to tell him like this.

With a final, sorrowful look, he stalks off across the park.

"Castle, wait!" she finally calls, panicking at the sight of his retreating back.

He doesn't turn around.

"That wasn't the kind of late I meant," she whispers into the breeze as her hands travel to her midsection and her fingers trail a gentle path across the possibility of forever.

* * *

**This might turn into my hiatus fic. Depending on how Monday goes and whether I want to rejoice, or drown my sorrows in pints of ice cream and fifths of scotch. And possibly depending on how much love I get for this idea.**

**No beta on this one. Send all scornful emails to me and me alone. Or you could gently nudge me to fix any you find. That would be kinder. **


	2. Chapter 2

It's been almost a week.

She's called a handful of times. Twice, on the day he left her hanging at the swings; once, every morning since. He hasn't picked up and he doesn't plan on it. What is there left to say? Still, he flops into his chair and eyes his phone, waits for the familiar ringtone.

He's spent his days since that fateful afternoon moping around the house, ignoring his mother's pointed stares and his daughter's worried phone calls. He tries putting on a strong façade for them but he knows they can see right through it, knows that they are whispering about him and his state of mind when he's out of earshot.

He sits at his desk, laptop open and cursor blinking at the ready. He has no words and his journal stays blank. There's no rationale that would make sense of what has become of them, no point in writing it out.

He'd thought that if he ended it, that if he made a clean break, it would be easier. Long-distance would never have worked out and so he had cut the cord before she could even ask.

He was so very wrong. Everywhere he turns there are reminders of her, of them. There is nothing clean about this break. It's jagged and raw; a seeping, festering wound that grows more infected with every minute he doesn't see her, touch her… talk to her.

He leans back in the chair and pinches at the throbbing between his eyes. God. It hurts. Focusing again, he moves the mouse and lets his cursor hover of the latest adventures of Nikki and Rook. But he can't bring himself to double-click. She's everywhere. There's no escape.

He lets his hand drop to his side and closes his eyes, lets his mind wander.

In the front closet, her jackets hang nestled up against his own, their two distinct scents mingling, mocking him every time he goes out for a walk, trying to clear his head and forget.

In the kitchen, her mug sits unused on the counter next to the machine; his mug beside hers, is also untouched. The thought of coffee makes him feel ill. He hasn't had a cup since he found out about the job offer; not since he learned of her betrayal.

In the bathroom, his counter is strewn with her belongings, his drawers filled with the evidence of the life they had shared; mascara and a deodorant smelling of baby power and jasmine, eyeliner and a vast selection of hair care products. Tampons; it's a final blow that mocks him every time he reaches into the medicine cabinet for another Tylenol to ease his aching head, for Tums to comfort his queasy stomach.

His bed still smells like her, her pillow is both a comforting talisman and a mocking reminder of all that he's lost. His nights are spent tossing and turning, reaching for her warmth only to be gut-wrenchingly disappointed when all he finds is space.

In the mornings, as he dresses and combs his hair, tries to put on a mask of normalcy, he finds himself drawn to the perfume she'd left on the bureau. Tentatively he brings it to his nose, and inhales her familiar, musky scent. Every time, the heady aroma almost brings him to his knees. And yet he is powerless to stop the ritual. When he closes his eyes, for one small moment he can almost believe she is there and that nothing has changed.

She'd all but moved in and he's dumbstruck by how on earth they found themselves in this position. It's torture, her tokens strewn about his place, and he wonders why he can't bring himself to just pack up her belongings and finish it. Stuff it all into a box along with his heart.

It's over, his head rages.

It's not, his heart cries.

The phone rings, startling him out of his reverie and almost toppling him out of the chair; it's eight in the morning and her smiling face beckons him to answer.

He doesn't.

"Oh, Kiddo…" his mother clucks, sweeping into the office and puttering around, picking up his used glasses and putting them on a tray, corking the bottle and straightening papers he has let get out of control.

"Not now, Mother," he grumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Not now."

She puts the tray down and sits on the edge of his desk. Apparently his mother won't be taking no for an answer this time.

"If not now, then when?" Martha asks softly, raising a brow.

"Never would be good," he answers sullenly.

He doesn't want to talk about it. He'd like to find a time machine and go back a few days, a few weeks.

Five years, maybe.

Failing that, another month or so of wallowing sounds reasonable. She broke his heart and he deserves a little time to drown in self-pity; in a bottle, or twelve, of Macallan's finest vintage.

"You can't avoid her forever," she gently scolds.

"I could."

"Richard..."

"What? What do you want me to say, Mother? She took this job without even consulting me. What does that say about her, about us?"

"Richard, you say you love her and I want to believe that. But I've also born witness to Katherine Beckett over the last year and one thing that I _do _know, is that she loves you. She might be headstrong, stubborn, ambitious…"

Well, he'll agree with all of that. But why is his mother questioning his love? Whose side is she on anyway? Is that what Kate was doing?

"Stubborn as a mule" he mutters bitterly, cutting her off.

"…and scared as a rabbit in a foxhole," she adds, pointedly. "But she _does_ love you," his mother finishes.

He had thought she loved him too. But what does it say when she's too selfish to even consult him before taking the job offer? Before taking the interview?

"How could she? People in love don't just run off and make decisions without consulting their partner."

"I sat with her while you ran off to Paris alone, without her. Is that so different?"

"It was _Alexis_."

"And she understood, dear."

He scoffs. He had _thought_ she understood.

"She did," his mother confirms firmly. "But sometimes we do things in the heat of the moment without thinking. Call it a temporary lapse of judgment."

"Or a permanent death sentence to our relationship," he mutters angrily.

His mother clamps her mouth shut, stopping whatever biting comeback she had planned. Sighing, she continues.

"Look, I planned a murder with her, spent two full weeks witnessing the extent of her feelings for you. That woman loves you, Richard. Anyone with two eyes in their head can see that. And I can't believe for a second that she would just up and leave without at least talking to you, telling you why."

"Well…" He sighs, roughly runs a hand through his hair. "Believe it. It's over."

"Tell me, what _exactly_ did she say?"

"She said that she wanted us to work, but that everything had changed. She said that she needed to know where we stood. Trust me, it was Kate-speak for, "I'm leaving.""

"I didn't hear anything concretely about leaving in that, my boy. But if you love her, which this current bout of binge drinking and melancholy seems to suggest," she says, waving her arms around in dramatic fashion and rolling her eyes. "Then why, pray tell, are you not fighting for her?"

"Isn't four years of fighting for her enough? I'd just finally won her, and we were… happy."

"Were you really? Or were you just coasting? Have you really made the extra effort since you two got together?"

"Why should I have had to? It was _good_."

"Oh darling," she soothes. "Getting there is only half the battle. I have no doubt that it was good, I have no doubt that Kate felt the same way. But relationships take work or they run stale, lose their momentum. Had you even thought about what was next?"

"I know where you're going with this, Mother."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Are you forgetting my dismal history?"

"I'm sure Katherine hasn't."

Jesus, is his mother _trying_ to hurt him? He knows what a screw up he's been in the past. There's no need to remind him that everybody else knows too.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it, my boy."

He had rushed into both his previous marriages without a second thought. He'd married Meredith after only a few months, forced by a sense of honor and a will to make it work. And Gina… well that was her idea. Again, just a few short months after beginning the relationship, but it had looked good on paper and it seemed like the thing to do at the time. He had been determined not to repeat those mistakes with Kate.

In his mind, she was worth the time and effort to do it right. Sure, marriage had been on his mind. It had been on his mind since the day five years ago when she had said she was more of the one and done type. He'd strived to become that man for her. But he had been in no rush this time. He'd been too scared to even bring it up, too afraid of bursting the perfect little bubble that he and Kate had seemed to be floating in.

"You think she thought I didn't want to commit to her? Because I was taking my time?"

"There's careful consideration Richard, and then there's downright pussyfooting. Had you two even discussed it?"

"Well…no."

He mother huffs and shakes her head; he cringes. Yeah, they've both acted like immature children recently. He hangs his head in shame; he can admit that at least.

"Why?"

Since when is his mother his therapist? He clamps his mouth shut, petulantly refusing to answer. She waits; looks at him full of motherly concern and a genuine interest, and waits. He cracks under the pressure in less than a minute.

"She didn't… I mean, she might have hinted in the past few months, and then at the swings she said… but then she said she was late and…"

His mother's eyebrows rise.

"And?"

"I was afraid okay? I'm no good at long-term."

"She said she wanted long-term?"

"Yeah, and then she said she was late and that everything had changed; that she needed to know…"

God, that really had annoyed him. That she couldn't even find the time to have a proper conversation with him. She called him to the swings, _their_ swings, for a conversation and then had quickly blurted out all her reasoning for taking the job, insufficient justifications spewed out in a hurry, because she was running late. He could have strangled her. A lesser man might have. He couldn't stand hearing it and had cut her off to save himself the pain.

"She needed to know what, darling?"

"I don't… I don't know. That's when I cut her off and ended it."

"Oh Richard… you stupid, stupid boy."

"But I…"

"Think about it," his mother repeats with tears in her eyes. She runs a hand through his hair and turns away, picking up the half-empty bottle of scotch and shaking her head as she leaves.

Think about it? It's all he's been doing for the last week. Thinking and drinking, wishing and praying for a different ending. His head hurts from all the thinking, the excessive drinking. He doesn't want to think anymore.

He rises slowly from his chair and makes his way through the office and bedroom to the en suite. He needs another hit of Tylenol, at least a couple of the Tums. He's going to give himself an ulcer and he should probably buy stock in the medication at this point, but damn it, it just… _hurts._

Pulling the small bottle out of the medicine cabinet, he is once again assaulted by the presence of the small blue box on the shelf; the evidence of the woman once a part of his life, sharing his home, his family, his future.

It hits him in a sudden and terrifying rush.

The box should have been replaced two weeks ago.

She had said she was late. She had said there was something else she wanted too. He had cut her off and kept her from finishing her sentences again and again. She wanted long-term and she had said she was late…

Late.

_Oh._

Oh, no. Kate.

* * *

**Thanks to Brooke for clarity. And to Bex for muse powers; she wears a giant fedora and huge, fake lashes.**

**Again, all mistakes are mine. It's Mother's Day and I'm a weeeeeee-bit tipsy. That little box below this would _love_ to have you send me a comment or twelve. **

**Bottoms up! It's almost Castle Monday! OMG! Where's the booze? Tell me I didn't drink it all!**


	3. Chapter 3

On the first day, she barely remembers to breathe.

She sits on the swings long after he's left and replays the moment in her head, a long and torturous loop until the sun has set and rain starts to fall. She doesn't miss the tragic irony of the situation. It's been almost a year to the day since she last sat in this playground and wept for all she had ruined. _I just want you_, she had said. She has done an awful job of proving it these last few weeks.

"_Save it,"_ he'd said, cutting her off before she had the chance to tell him her decision.

She had been bored. It was another run of the mill case, with run of the mill suspects and a fairly easy solve. The boys had done most of the leg work. Uncertain about her future with Castle and looking for direction in her life, she had been ready to accept the job.

But she had come to the park to tell him that she wasn't going to.

She'd decided to stay before she'd even realized that she was late. That realization had come to her quietly, with tears springing to her eyes and a tightening in her chest, as she drove to the park.

Late; that's the term she's going with. She can't bring herself to even think the word, of the consequences of late. Not without him by her side.

When she finally arrives home and slumps onto the couch, all she can think about is what a monumental screw up she had made of the whole thing. Tears fall silently and she thumbs her phone, placing it to her ear and praying he'll pick up.

He doesn't.

Not the first time or the second. Sometime later, when she's purged and feeling numb, she falls asleep.

* * *

On the second day, she pulls herself together enough to go to the market and buy a test.

The old lady manning the register gives her ring finger a disdainful glare and wishes her luck. She makes it all the way home before the tears fall. Collapsing onto the bathroom floor, she grips the pink box with shaking hands and tries his cell again.

There's no answer.

She'd wanted to tell him that one on one with a suspect in the box it had all become crystal clear. As lucrative as the job offer was, it was missing something. The offer held all kinds of power and career opportunities, but it lacked… heart.

Four words and it had clicked. Four words that had been unconsciously nagging her thoughts, maybe for months now, thrown carelessly at her by a scumbag murderer looking to piss her off; they had resonated deep.

In the end, she doesn't take the test. But she's still late.

She tries to ignore the flutter of hope, adds an extra layer of concealer under her eyes and goes to work.

* * *

On the third and fourth day, the pattern repeats.

She goes through the motions, dresses and shows up at work.

She does her job.

It's not the same without him, but the boys offer her smiles and knowingly refrain from prying. They tell her it'll be okay. It's not enough and every minute feels like ten.

Lanie takes her out for lunch and scolds her for lying to him, for lying to herself. As they leave Kate is wrapped tightly in her best friend's arms and Lanie tells her to keep calling, that it's Castle and that she knows him, knows he'll come around.

Kate returns to the precinct feeling a little lighter, a little more hopeful.

* * *

On the fifth day, she's recovered enough to notice that something's off with the boys, that something is missing. When she goes searching for a pen, she finds a half-drunk cup of cold coffee hidden in Espo's drawer; she laughs for the first time since it happened. It's cute, and slightly insane, and she couldn't love them any more for it. She presses a fresh cup into both of their hands and this time it's her telling them that everything will be okay.

Late that afternoon, she catches a suspect in a lie and sends him to prison for twenty to life. She informs the victim's family and they hug her so hard that it steals her breath.

"_You're wasting your time," _Martin had said.

"_Bullshit!" _her psyche had raged.

Her fists had clenched and blood had pounded in her ears. She had shown him exactly what she was capable of, of the difference she made every day. Looking around the box and thinking about how long it had been her domain, she had realized what she would miss if she took the offer; the one on one, the satisfaction of getting the right person and looking them in the eye.

How many families had she given closure to over the years? Dozens? More, probably hundreds. She wouldn't get that in D.C. She'd be relegated to a desk, to combing financials and cozying up to the power players; to people like the Deputy Director. He'd rubbed her the wrong way from the get go. The tinge of scorn as he'd spoken of the AG's grandchild had raised her hackles, and perhaps been her first hint that something wasn't quite right.

Sure, her name would probably have made it into the papers, her salary would have increased exponentially; but what comfort would that be if she had no one to come home and share it with?

She's glad she chose to stay; glad for Martin's carelessly tossed out words.

This is her home. And it's enough for now.

* * *

On the fifth night, she still hasn't taken the test. It's been almost two weeks since her period should have started and she really, _really _should, but the thought of doing it without him makes fresh tears spring to her eyes and so she tells herself that she'll do it in the morning.

With or without him, she'll take it in the morning.

* * *

On the sixth day, she wakes up feeling sick. Her abdomen feels heavy and there's a pounding between her eyes. It's a familiar feeling. She rushes to the bathroom thinking it all must have been a false alarm. She's been late before while under strain and this last week certainly qualifies as stressful, unusually stressful; it's been downright traumatic.

She's still late. She takes a Tylenol and picks up the phone to call him.

He doesn't answer.

With a heavy heart but a purposeful stride she goes to the bathroom and pulls the wrapper off the test. She simply can't put this off any longer.

Three minutes and she will have her answer.

The nausea that had disappeared since the park has returned full force. She strokes lazy circles on her stomach and tries to decide if it's nerves or... something else. She watches, pacing her apartment, as the seconds tick by on her father's watch.

At one minute, she thinks about everything she has thrown away because she couldn't gather the courage to talk to him, to sit him down and really ask where they were going, to let him in on her fears, her hopes for the future.

She doesn't want to do this alone, but she will if it comes to that.

When the watch reaches two minutes, she thinks about taking a peek at the test. A part of her is terrified that it will already be positive. She's ruined everything by keeping secrets and if it's positive then she's going to have to tell him. Bile rises in her throat at the thought. This has happened to him before and she knows how he responded. She doesn't want him making any rash decisions out of a misguided sense of duty. When he asks her…

_If_ he ever asks her. Because after almost a week, she's beginning to wonder if what they had is salvageable.

If he ever asks her, she wants it to be for the right reasons.

She wants it with him; she wants is so bad it hurts. The last week has made it clear just how much she wants it; all of it. She wants her job at the 12th, with her friends and her dad close by. She wants Castle's ratty chair pulled up next to her desk, his roguish smirk and clever banter carrying her through each day.

Someday, she wants the chair to be empty because he's at home tending to a mischievous toddler with auburn hair and cornflower blue eyes. She runs a wistful hand over her belly. She's wonders what it says about herself that a small part of her is terrified that the test will be negative. Better something than nothing.

With thirty seconds left, she's interrupted by a frantic knocking on her door.

Her heart stops because she knows that knock.

It's him.

* * *

**Was that mean of me to leave it there? I think it might have been. **

**I hope I did the finale justice and managed to weave it in believably with my tale. Can I get a "Hell yeah!" for my Martha? Boo-ya! Nailed it! **


	4. Chapter 4

He stumbles while rushing to the front door of her building, trips up the last step, and ends with his face smashed against the glass.

He's still a little angry.

He's spent a week wallowing in self-pity and misery, certain his heart has been betrayed again. But the awful truth, what hurts more than thinking she had forsaken him, is the realization that he's done the same. Because he knows her; he knows how she ticks. He'd let his emotions get the best of him and let his anger take hold when he should have given her a chance to explain.

She would have.

In her own time, once she'd figured it out for herself. Headstrong, stubborn, ambitious, his mother had said. And scared as a rabbit in a foxhole. At the time, he'd glossed over the scared part, too hurt by his perceived betrayal to even begin to view things from her perspective.

But she would have explained. Because she's been trying lately; harder than him, he realizes, and perhaps that's exactly why she felt the need to keep it a secret from him.

He'd bought her the ring the day after she'd surprised him for his birthday. Having already narrowed his options down to three, months earlier, the choice had been simple. The one he chose was elegant, low profile and of the highest quality. A reflection of how he saw her. It was perfect.

How the hell can she question his commitment?

'_How _exactly_ was she to know?'_ his mother's voice echoes in his head.

He's ecstatic and he's terrified; he's a mixed up, stuttering mess of nerves and steely resolve. He fumbles with the keys and drops them at his feet, hitting his head on the door handle as he stands back up. He could kiss the disapproving face of Mrs. Jones from across the hall when she lets him into the building with a scowl and a roll of her eyes.

"Calm down, sonny," she says. "I don't know how that girl of yours puts up with you."

"Me neither," he replies solemnly.

Mrs. Jones gives him a confused tilt of her head and proceeds out the door, shaking her head.

He strokes his fingers over the box in his pocket. Finding the perfect time to give the ring to her…that hadn't been so easy. He'd brought it out of its hiding spot amongst his underwear at least a dozen times and had thought about popping the question, but it never seemed quite right and his own insecurities had quickly told him that it was too soon.

For her, he'd told himself. But maybe for him too, he now realizes.

He gulps down the nervous tension roiling in his belly. He wants her to have it, wants her to wear it; he wants to get down on one knee and offer her forever. But he's terrified. Of her, of himself, of all he could ruin if he pushes too hard, too fast.

This is what got them into this mess, he reminds himself.

It took his mother putting him through the wringer to realize that if he loved her, truly loved her, then he'd love her despite her faults, her tendency to keep things close to the vest.

He's been punishing her for the very thing that made him fall in love with her.

She makes him work for it, for every inch, and in the process it makes him a better man. So yes, he'll offer her the ring, his life, he'll offer it with no caveats. He'll love her fully and without fear, and let the cards fall where they may.

He jabs the elevator button with gusto. He taps his foot with impatience and almost falls out of the car when it arrives on her floor.

He gets to her door and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

He shuffles his feet, chewing on his lip and eyeing her front door like it might jump out and bite him. He's never been so scared in his life. What he's about to do will change everything.

He wonders if she took the job. Or did she decide to stay? Does it even matter? If she did decide to stay, does she even want him in her life? He's spent five years trying to prove to her that he was different, that he was worthy and willing to wait. He knew going in that she was different, a challenge.

He knows now that he will follow her anywhere. But how to convince _her_ of that? How does he convince her that he wants forever, for all the right reasons and not as a desperate ploy to get her to stay?

He digs in his pocket and fingers the ring out of the box, lets it encircle his pinky. The ring glints at him, a myriad of colors reflecting back from its surface. It makes him smile, reminds him of the many shades of Beckett that he fell in love with.

In the span of only a few days, he might have ruined it all. Shutting her out was the exact wrong reaction, and though he's honest enough with himself to know that it was human, he prides himself on his ability to read her, and his knack for making her open up.

Neither of them is to blame. It's just who they are. He hopes he can fix it.

He raises his hand with the ring still on his finger, groans at his carelessness and shoves it back in his pocket. He tightens his jaw, gulps in a heaving lungful of air.

Calm down, he tells himself. You've done this before.

No. He's never done_ this_ before. He has proposed twice, but it'll be the first time he's done it for the right reasons.

Tentatively, he raises his hand to knock and a wave of panic rushes over him.

He wonders if she took a test already. Should he ask about that first? If she did, is she keeping yet another secret?

God, the woman will be the death of him. She keeps him tied up in knots and twisted with anxiety. His anger returns, sudden and unbidden.

At this point, he's not even sure who he's angry with. Is it with her, for making him work so hard? Or maybe he's angry at himself, for not having the courage to take the final leap and continue with what he had struggled for so long to achieve.

When will they ever learn to just _talk _about things? Is this going to be their fatal flaw?

_No!_ He's not going to let it end like that. He's going to take his mother's advice and fight for it.

He deserves it.

She does too.

He pounds on the door, not willing to let her hide for another moment.

* * *

She casts a lingering, sidelong glance toward the bathroom and then strides toward the front door.

Jeez, Castle, she thinks. Your timing couldn't have been worse.

Or better.

No, it definitely couldn't have been worse.

Because right about now, as she hovers at the threshold with her hand on the doorknob and with shallow breaths making her feel lightheaded, the test will be conclusive. Right about now she could at least partially know what her future holds. And she'd like to at least know that, because she has no idea where they stand.

If they still stand.

It's been six days of radio silence. What could possibly have changed? What could have caused the ice to crack?

She forces herself to inhale deeply, slowly, like Burke taught her; she falters on the exhale, blowing it all out in one quick gush. Her hair flies out in all directions, her chest tightens, and sweat that has formed on her brow dries cold on her face.

This is absurd. It's ridiculous for her to be panicking now. The furious knocking continues as she regroups and regulates her breathing, gets herself under control.

She's put it off all week in hopes that he would come around, that they would talk and settle their differences and that they could find out together. She is loath to admit it, but in her idle moments she has caught herself daydreaming about white picket fences and two point five sandy-haired kids; a golden retriever lolloping to greet her after a long day at the precinct.

She closes her eyes, squeezes them shut to block out the image. Now's not the time. He's waiting.

_Like always_, her mind supplies.

He's waiting on the other side of the door with the answers she's been desperately searching for. So what is _she_ waiting for?

She's not sure if they can salvage the relationship, but she is certain that if the test reads positive, he will be supportive, that he would want to know.

He's a good man. He has the _right_ to know.

Her fingers curl hesitantly around the door knob and she bites on her lip, wavering, letting her grip on the handle drop as the reason for her fear becomes clear.

She's waiting because she's terrified that her habit of keeping secrets has ruined them.

Once upon a time, secrets were a good thing. They protected her, and sheltered her father when he was drinking; when he could have lost it all to the bottle. She used secrets to protect him and his good name. She used secrets to protect herself; to defend against well-meaning but clueless friends who would never understand the pain. She used secrets to rise through the ranks of the NYPD, hiding her past to gain access to what she hoped would be the key to her mother's murder.

But it was he who showed her that there was another way. It was he who taught her to be honest; first with herself, and finally, little by little, with him.

It was entirely unfair of her to not include him from the start. She should have told him the minute she was pulled aside and the job offer was only an inkling of the beginning of an idea. She's told herself she was protecting him, protecting their relationship. In reality, she was being a coward; too scared of the possibility of rejection if they were to find themselves wanting different things. She was protecting nobody but herself.

Well no more. No more secrets. She's done with them.

It's the first thing she'll tell him. Then, she'll sit him down and make him listen to her. Make him understand what she was trying to tell him at the swings.

_Jesus, Kate, open the damn door!_

He's here. His timing couldn't have been better. With a strong grip and a steady resolve in her heart, she clutches the door handle and swings the door wide open.

* * *

"Rick… hi."

He stares at her, fist still raised, mid-knock. His Adam's apple bobs and his jaw clenches. She attempts a smile. He quirks an eyebrow but his face doesn't soften and there's something in his eye she can't quite read.

"Come in," she says awkwardly, waving in the general direction of her kitchen.

He strides past and lands on one of the kitchen stools, heaving a deep sigh and sucking in a loud lungful of air as he sinks onto it.

This doesn't bode well.

She flicks a quick glance to the bathroom and steels her nerves.

One foot in front of the other, she tells herself. She can't help the quick flush of desire that washes over her as she makes her way across the room. She wants to wrap him up in her arms and whisper her apologies in his ear. She wants to lead him to her bedroom and show him everything that she has such a hard time saying.

She doesn't let people into her home, only a very select few. And seeing him here, even angry, even so very disappointed in her, it feels right. She'd never let anyone this close, doesn't think he realizes that he alone gets to see her like this. Will hadn't managed, and certainly not Josh. In those relationships it had been on her terms. She'd gone to them when she needed comfort, or dragged them quickly to the bedroom only to shuffle them back out the next morning; she'd held them at arm's length and scoffed at the very idea of them being comfortable in her space.

But Castle, he belongs here. Arriving unannounced and entering with a flourish, sitting at her counter or sprawled on her couch; snooping through her belongings and disrupting the order of her bookshelves, he had fit before she'd even realized she was in love with him.

She realizes she's been standing still for a moment too long. While she's been admiring the proud, resilient set of his jaw, the straight line of his spine despite his obvious discomfort, he has started to fidget.

She could show him, and it might even work. But she needs to tell him. They need to talk.

Now or never, Kate.

"I'm sorry," she begins, settling on the stool beside him, careful to keep her eyes on his face even if he won't look her in the eye. "I shouldn't have kept secrets."

"It's who you are, you don't let people in," he says, testing his first sideways glace at her.

Her heart flutters nervously in her chest and his tone of voice is making her worry.

"I've had to scratch and claw for every inch."

She gulps. "Castle, I…" she tries to interrupt, needing to tell him her secret.

"Please let me finish," he demands. His tone brooks no argument and her stomach plummets.

She drops her gaze and lets him have his say. All her plans have flown out the window with the steely timbre of his voice.

The man is deadly serious.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about us… our relationship." He pauses. "What we have, where we're headed."

Present tense, she notes with a small shiver of hope.

"I've decided I want more. We both deserve more."

_Oh_.

Oh no. He can't be.

And with those two sentences her stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of the basement. She never thought it would hurt this much. Some stupid part of her, that had considered taking the job, had thought it would be easier to end things now, before it became too serious, before they had officially committed to anything. She knows now how very hard she had been fooling herself.

There will never be another. Not after him.

He's a decent, loving, honorable man and he's right. He does deserve more.

But so does she.

Seconds tick by, feeling like hours, and it's all she can do to hold herself up and not fling herself into his arms and beg for forgiveness.

She holds all the blame for the mess that is this last week, but of late, he's not given one hundred percent either.

She's the one that's been scratching. She's the one that's been clawing this past year. _He's_ the one that's been holding back.

Kate doesn't hold it against him though. What little she has learned about him, about his past and the reasons he is the way he is, uncovers deep pain of his own; carefully held secrets that take him just as much effort to reveal as it does her to expose. The small glimmers of the real Rick Castle, the man behind the image he projects, only serve to make her love him more.

But how does she make him see that it's worth the effort?

They really are quite the pair.

"I agree," she says quietly, hoping he hears the courage she tries to inflect in her voice. The quiet hope that maybe they can have 'more' together, instead of apart.

"So whatever happens, whatever you decide..."

He stands up, as though he's about to leave and her lip trembles; tears threaten to spill over the edge of her lashes. It really is over.

She's been such a fool.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"

He…

She feels her eyes widen, her jaw go slack. Everything runs in slow motion and her peripheral vision blurs as her focus shifts to the man before her.

Did he just? Is he on one knee? In her kitchen?

His eyes are a clear and vibrant blue, and there is not even a small trace of humor. He is one hundred percent, deadly serious.

Her eyes travel to the ring and… oh wow... it's gorgeous.

Everything within her vibrates with the need to throw herself into his arms and say yes.

Instead, she says no.

* * *

**Wow, guys, first off, _thank you. _The response to this story has been amazing and your insightful (or just plain FDKGFDFDSASSDFH) reviews make my day.**

**Second, to Kell, for being the best bloody beta a gal could ask for. The first draft rambled and jumped around and she kicked my ass right back into gear. **

**And to Nic, for reminding me that I do in fact know how to write a decent story once I get over myself and just do it. **

**I angsted over this chapter forever. I hope it satisfied. **


	5. Chapter 5

"Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"

Her eyes widen, and he watches as it registers across her face, realization, slowly dawning, understanding, and the poorly shuttered despair that had settled, lifting from her gaze.

"Castle…"

It's almost a question, a whisper, so quiet he barely hears it.

"Rick…"

Her voice is stronger this time. Her watches her jaw tighten as she swallows around the lump in her throat, her eyes flick back and forth between the ring and his face. Her lips twitch, turn up a little at the corners, and she bites on her lip. Hope soars in his chest. This is flustered Kate, and flustered Kate is a whole lot better than heartbroken Kate; he'd seen a glimpse of that a moment ago and he never wants to cause that again. But then her eyes narrow and she stands a little taller, takes a deep breath.

"No."

No?

His heart plummets. He braces himself on the leg of the stool for a moment, lets out a heavy sigh and slowly brings himself back to a standing position. He's just put it all on the line and she said no. His hand hangs limp at his side, the ring feeling like a lead weight between his fingers. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

He feels her hand on his arm, her fingers scrambling for purchase around his bicep, struggling to grasp his attention. She turns him around and pulls him into her embrace.

"Oh God, not no_… not like this_," she murmurs, pressing her body close to his, her voice gentle, pleading, a soft breath in his ear.

She pulls her head back and he forces open his eyes, watches as she struggles to find the words to explain herself. Her eyes search his, desperate and pleading; tears roll down her cheeks. She's shaking, her whole body vibrating with nervous energy. She runs a hand through his hair, her thumb stroking soft but shaky circles at his temple. Butterflies begin to stir in his belly, fluttering up to his constricted heart and easing some of the pressure; because while her mouth said no, her whole body practically screams yes.

"What I mean is… Castle, why? Why now? After I shut you out, after everything left unresolved, why now?"

"Kate, I don't know what else to say. Maybe because everything _is _unresolved. I love you. No buts, just you."

"Rick, it's not that I don't want to say yes…God, I want to, more than anything."

Oh. Yeah, this is better. It still stings, but he did just spring a proposal on her when for all intents and purposes it probably seemed like he was breaking up with her. He'd seen how she'd crumbled before him as he'd haltingly, and perhaps a little too succinctly, tried to tell her what he was feeling. He just couldn't find the words in the moment to try and calm her fears.

"And someday I _will_ say yes, just…"

Oh, yeah this is _much_ better. The fierceness in her voice, the certainty that she will say yes. Just… just _what?_

"Not today."

Huh. He's strangely okay with that. They haven't spoken in days. Now that he reflects, he realizes he'd never expected her to fling herself into his arms and say yes anyway. That's not how she works. If they'd been in a good place, then sure, that carefully hidden girly side would have come out to play and she would most definitely have done some squealing… or well, maybe not squealing, but yeah… Kate's a total girl when he hasn't got her all tied up in knots.

But this is how he works too; grand gestures, and a lack of words when it counts.

"Hey," she says, breaking him out of his reverie. "We're going to need to talk." Her voice is serious, her gaze meaningful.

Yeah, they do. He needs to apologize for how he left her at the park. He needs to explain what he was feeling, explain how much it hurt when he thought she was leaving without him, without consulting him; how he might have acted like a child and ran away when things got the least bit scary. And then there's the other thing; the 'late' thing.

"But for now…"

Her hand travels down his arm, her other coming to rest beside it so that his hand, holding her ring, is clasped between hers.

"If it's okay with you?" she questions with a raised brow as she slips the ring from his finger with her left hand and raises her right.

He nods mutely, strangely bewitched by the sight of the ring in her hands, sliding onto her finger. Even if it is the wrong finger, it feels right. For now.

"But ask me again," she smiles, joy shining from her eyes. "Ask me again, later."

She falls into his arms and he catches her, draws her in close and rests his head atop hers. He nuzzles her hair, breathes in her scent, the perfume that never smelled quite right without the woman who wore it.

"I love you," she mumbles into his chest. "I love you, I love you."

Her words vibrate through his chest, spread and pinprick their way through his body. And just like that he feels the tide turn, feels the weight lift.

"So," he says, grinning, so happy that they are once again nearing, if not exactly on, the same page. "How much later?"

She pulls back to look him in the eye. "You'll know when."

"Soon?" he asks, raising a challenging brow.

"Yeah, soon," she confirms. "And I promise, next time?"

"Hmm?" he says, pressing his lips to hers ever so softly.

It feels like home. He's missed her. So much. He's missed this. The kiss is gentle, careful, a renewed exploration of each other with each tentative flick of tongue, every cautious pull of teeth across hesitant lips.

"I'll say yes," she murmurs into his mouth. "I'll say yes."

He pulls away from the kiss before it can escalate too far. She's eased his fears, confirmed how much this means to her as well. But they really do need to talk.

"So it's an almost yes?" he asks, smirking, trying to bring back the lightness that he's missed between them for so long.

"No…it's not an almost."

"No? Katherine Houghton Beckett, I swear to all that is good and holy…"

She laughs, cutting him off, and god… it's a wonderful sound; bright and full and everything he needs. Everything he will ever need.

"It's a _definite_ yes. But first…"

"First we need to talk."

"Yeah," she smiles.

"Kate, about the park, I'm sorry..."

"Save it for now, huh? We both have things to apologize for. But I'd be willing to accept a truce? There's something else."

He nods, sobering. They aren't even close to having hashed everything out, haven't really begun, but yeah, a truce sounds perfect.

"It doesn't mean that I'm not still mad," she says, biting a lip, her face coy.

"Me neither," he replies, with a slight nod of his head.

And just like that, he feels it. He's forgiven. Like he forgave her, after the worst summer of his life, with those same few words. They will fight, and they will have to work to get back what they'd almost ruined, but it's a start.

"I should have talked to you from the beginning," she starts, lowering her eyes in shame.

He lifts her chin so she meets his gaze. "I should have listened to you when you were ready. I let my emotions get the better of me, I… I thought that you were going to leave and I panicked."

"Actually, I'd already decided to stay."

Huh... She'd decided to stay. He'd really like to kiss her again. But no, there's something else, they have other matters to discuss. Like why she decided to stay; and the giant elephant in the room. She said was late. Is she still late?

"Look, it doesn't matter now. We can talk about the job later, but I think I know now what you were trying to tell me…"

Her eyes widen, and her whole body visibly relaxes. "You do?"

"Did you?" He lets his eyes travel to her midsection, can't help trying to see if he can detect a difference. Which is ridiculous, it's so early, but still… _what if_? His heart leaps into his throat as her hands come to protectively cup her belly. "I mean… _are you_?"

She sighs. "I tried. I tried all week to take a test, but I couldn't, not without you. And then this morning, when you still didn't pick up, I thought… I finally couldn't wait any longer..."

"Kate, I'm so sorry."

"I know," she smiles, reaching out and holding his hand, giving his fingers a light squeeze. "It's okay."

"So?"

"So… you have impeccable timing."

She chews on her lip, ducks her eyes; her furrowed brow worries him. Does she not want kids? He'd always thought that they would…

"It's sitting on the bathroom counter… waiting."

_Oh._ Wow. She doesn't know either. She just agreed to marry him. Well, _not yet_, but she did agree. She agreed, with no caveats. It's not about the results of that test, and it's not about the job. He'd _really_ like to kiss her again now.

"Kate, whatever happens," he says, cupping her face between his palms, "I'm with you. I'm in this okay? I just want you."

The lip pops free from between her teeth and a brilliant smile lights up her face.

"Are you stealing my lines?" she asks, eye twinkling.

"It's a good line. And you know, they say that good writers borrow, but _great _writers…"

"Don't push it."

"Done pushing."

She snorts, rolls her eyes and delivers a light jab to his shoulder.

It feels so good to have the banter return, however brief, and suddenly, he just can't help himself. He grabs her, pulls her into a fierce hug, and before she can protest, he's swinging her around in a dizzying dance across the living room.

She laughs and yells at him, "Oh my god! Castle, put me down!"

He plops her back on the floor with a sound kiss to the forehead. "Thank you," he says.

"What was that about?" she laughs.

"I missed this," he shrugs. "I missed us."

"Me too," she says, her eyes earnest.

"So, you ready?" he asks, gesturing to the bathroom door and all that waits inside. Answers; and no matter what the result, a whole new chapter.

"Yeah… let's. Together. "

Together. He likes the sound of that.

* * *

**Don't kill me! I swear, next chapter they will have their answer. **

**Kell is awesomesauce. No, really. She is. **

**Thoughts? Is she late or 'late'? **


	6. Chapter 6

She goes first into the bathroom, leaves him trailing behind and standing at the threshold while she reaches for the small white stick that could change their lives; that _will_ change their lives, no matter the result. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the test.

Her fingers encircle the plastic, her grip tight as she brings it to her chest; her whole body vibrates, shaky and on edge. She feels his arms wrap around her from behind, strong and secure, warm and comforting.

"Breathe, Kate," he whispers into her hair. "Whatever happens, we got this."

She nods, slowly opens her eyes and turns the plastic in her palms to view the result; she finds a single pink line, stark against the backdrop of white. In the mirror before her, Castle drops his head and closes his eyes.

_Negative._

A quiet sob gets lodged in her throat but she refuses to let it pass her lips; tears prick at the back of her eyes but she quickly blinks them away. She turns, pressing the test into his chest, and drives her body past him, retreating into the security of her bedroom.

"Kate, what's wrong? I thought you'd be relieved," he says, voice rough, coming to sit beside her on the bed. He rests his hand tentatively on her shoulder and she can hear the effort it's taking for him to control his breathing.

"It's nothing…"

His grip tightens, thumbs pressing gently into her neck, but he stays silent. She's lying; she promised herself she wouldn't keep doing that. No more secrets. They need to start communicating if they are ever going to move past this stage in their relationship. They've reached a crossroads and she doesn't intend to keep making the same wrong turn.

"No, it's not nothing," she starts, and his grip relaxes, his palm coming to rub soothing strokes along her spine. "I thought I'd be relieved. I… I _should_ be relieved. The timing is awful but god, Castle…"

She chokes out a sob and a tear escapes her eyelashes, rolls a warm path down her cheek; he brushes it away with the side of his thumb and looks her in the eye, his gaze sympathetic.

"You wanted it anyway."

"Yeah, I guess I did," she sighs, curling her legs up under her body and leaning into his embrace.

"Kate?" he says, quietly, brushing his lips upon her hairline.

"Hmm?"

"Me too," he murmurs.

She smiles then; glad she's not the only one with conflicting thoughts.

"Once I figured it out, I couldn't help but picture our kids," he says. His voice is low and laced with a fond affection for their yet unborn children. "Your smile, my charm…"

"Your eyes, my good sense," she adds with a grin.

"I feel like I should be taking offense," he grumbles.

"Probably should," she smiles, turning her face up to catch his lips for a quick peck.

"So, kids huh?" he says, shifting them so that they lie side by side on her bed. "How many?"

"We're really having this discussion now?" she says, ducking her eyes and toying with the edge of a pillow.

"Seems like as good a time as any."

"Castle, I don't know if I'm ready to talk about…"

Ugh! She really needs to stop avoiding. It's exactly what started this whole mess. It's what got them both into trouble and it has to stop. But old habits die hard, and it takes a few moments of deep breaths and an anguished dispute in her mind, her psyche screaming at her to just turn tail and run, until she calms herself enough to speak.

He waits patiently, trailing his fingers up and down her side. She chances a glance from under her lashes and smiles at the soft, but expectant gaze he has leveled on her.

"Two," she finally whispers.

"To?"

"Two," she says, finally meeting his regard and holding up two fingers. "I want two. Boys."

His face breaks out into a wide grin, obviously pleased with her revelation, and he dips down to plant a lingering kiss on her lips.

"More men in the house, even up the numbers," he says, as her lower lips pops free, smirking as he pulls away. "Good plan, I like it."

Her heartbeat slows to a more steady rhythm with the revelation that, on this issue at least, they seem to be on the same page. But beautiful as the daydream about kids with Castle is, they aren't even close to being ready for that. Not when they have yet to even begin discussing the future in anything other than abstract terms.

"It's for the best, Castle," she sighs sadly, running a hand over her apparently late but not 'late' abdomen. "It's not the right time."

"We would have been fine, you know?" he says, absently tracing the path her hand makes with his own. "We would have worked it out."

"I know." She smiles and leans in, cupping his jaw with her palm. "But this gives us time to work on other things."

"Like when you'll move in and marry me things?" he grins.

"Hmm, yeah those things," Kate grabs an ear between her thumb and forefinger and pulls him in for a kiss. His tongue gently sweeps her mouth, probing, and she moans at the sensation. "And, other things…."

"Are you sure we're ready for this, Kate?" he asks, the gruff tone in his voice suggesting that while he is giving a valiant effort to take things slow, he's feeling the heat as it builds between them just as much as she.

"No, but…" She places a hand on his rear and pulls herself close so that their bodies are aligned and all that's separating them are a few thin layers of material.

"But we've communicated enough for one day and you wanna practice making little Castle babies anyway?"

Who knew the mention of little Castle babies would be such a turn on? He grunts as she rolls her hips against him in a move that could only be described as lewd.

"_I_ was thinking that makeup sex is pretty hot," she purrs, taking an earlobe into her mouth and gently biting down. "But yeah, Rick, we could definitely do that too."

* * *

**Well, there you have it, she's just late. I hope I didn't disappoint too many of you and that if I did, you will continue to read anyway. **

**Thanks to Kell for the beta on the fly, she's awesome and has a sick bubba and should get all the kudos for pointing out my typos. And to Avi for ruining my story with her logic. A solid middle finger and a big naked-chested thanks to her. **

**So the next chapter... probably gonna be M, I'm thinking I'll post it as a separate story so I can keep the rating low on this one, but I'm happy to hear your thoughts on the matter. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Alrighty people, so sorry about the wait. I got taken out by the flu and I've only just arisen from the dead. So here it is, the promised M chapter. Really, it's barely even M but I didn't want to offend, so up goes the rating. **

* * *

"You're so beautiful, Kate," he says tenderly, running his thumb across her face.

He's missed this. The quiet contentment of just the two of them, side by side, as the city wakes up.

"Castle, before we…" She grips his shoulder and kisses his cheek softly, "I don't want you to think I stayed because of you or the...other thing."

He raises a confused eyebrow, her tone assuring him that she didn't mean it exactly as it sounded. He thinks he knows where she's trying to go with this.

She cringes, blushes and shakes her head in exasperation with herself.

"I think I get it," he says softly. "You had your own reasons for staying."

Kate nods, "Yes," she says, her voice thick with desperation. "Yes, but it doesn't mean you weren't a huge part of that decision. I just…" She runs a frustrated hand through her hair. "I didn't want to stay _only_ for you. Does that make any kind of sense? I didn't ever want to end up resenting you. I couldn't bear it."

Her hand curls around the base of his neck and she pulls him down so that she can kiss him again, deep and languid.

"I just want you," she whispers, the familiar phrase never losing its impact on him. "_Only_ you. But I had to be sure I was staying for the right reasons. I almost decided to leave for the wrong ones."

He runs a hand down her torso, his fingers tickling and eliciting small gasps, until he reaches the buttons on her jeans, popping them open, one by one until his goal is reached and he palms her through her underwear.

"Kate," Castle says, "relax, we're good, okay?"

He says nothing else, holds eye contact until she nods in agreement. He presses his hand downward, edging a finger nearer the edge of her underwear, teasing her, his fingers running over the thin fabric. She grinds herself against his hand and he smiles, his mind crackling with what she'd just said, with what she'd given up, knowing that now, at last, the wall he'd spent so long trying to scale had finally, fully, given way.

"Rick, please," she moans.

He groans against her as she grinds against his thigh, though whether in frustration or desire he's not entirely sure. He is sure that they really need to lose the clothes. Now, preferably.

He'd give anything to make her happy, this woman whom he had not dared to imagine ever truly being his. She was his and he hers and yet he had found himself petrified that he might lose her; so scared, that he had ended up pushing her away through his indecision. And yet, here she was; this was not a dream, she was flesh and blood, and she only wanted him. She was his.

"Castle… now," she pleads. He obeys, slowly running his hands over the thin weave of her underwear, his fingers disappearing into the waistband as he slowly eases the fabric over her bottom. The breath catches in his throat as he teases the underwear and her jeans down her thighs. She moans again, shifting onto her back, and eyeing him with relish as he quickly unbuttons his pants and lets them fall to the floor. His shirt comes next and by the time he has the fabric over his head, she too is fully naked before him.

"I've missed you," she breathes, reaching out to grasp his hand and pull him beside her. "Castle, I want you."

Her voice is as desperate as he's ever heard it, full of a need that he's never noticed before. Softly, he kisses her neck and eases himself against her, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the scent he's missed so much.

"I've missed you too," he murmurs into her ear.

Kate rolls, and moves her hips so that they are aligned, skin to skin, her knee nudging between his own, foot inching down and curling around his ankle, until she is settled in and they are a tangle of limbs and perspiring skin. She pushes her hips forward and moving slow, they finally meet in the middle, his tip nudging at her core.

"This is all I need," she moans, her voice a quick staccato, "Nothing else."

He enters her in one long stroke and she gasps, her head dropping forward as they quickly find a rhythm and move faster against each other. Castle shifts, and gripping her waist with one hand, he trails a line of kisses along her collarbone, up her neck, until he catches her earlobe between his teeth.

"Mine," he growls into her ear. "Mine."

She lets out a low whine, buries her head into the crook of his neck and lets out a succession of agreements.

He laughs softly, enjoying this delightfully agreeable Kate, and curls his body into her, his thoughts becoming scattered as he approaches the edge.

"And you're mine," she breathes, hips bucking, her fingernails digging into his ass and drawing him impossibly closer.

"Yes." He's quickly losing his rhythm as they near the brink.

"Mine," she chants as her muscles squeeze him and her breathing becomes ragged. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Always," he promises as she falls over the edge and he quickly follows her.

* * *

**One last chapter to go. And it's about ready to post. So lavish me with your affection and/or send chicken soup because I'm still not quite alive and maybe it will help. **

**Kellie is an evil genius. She knows why. **

**Avi, I love you and will never forget that one shining moment when you told me my chapter didn't need anything else. Miracles never cease to amaze me. **


	8. Chapter 8

**As promised, the conclusion. Another quickie, but hopefully satisfying. **

* * *

Kate stares at her ceiling, a contented smile on her face, a pleasing warm ache between her legs, while Castle lazily strokes her right hand, his fingers repeatedly coming back to twist the ring around the finger of her right hand.

Shadows creep and swirl across the ceiling as her blinds sway in the breeze, and as the post-coital rush wears off, a sense of melancholy sets in. She wishes she could have a do-over; turn the clock back a month or so and start fresh. Because all she wants to do is forget the last few weeks and make a point of actually talking to him, instead of brushing everything under the rug and pretending it doesn't exist.

Maybe if they had…

Maybe if they had, he would have asked and she would have said yes without any qualms. Maybe now she'd be the fiancée of Richard Castle instead of the almost, kinda, sorta, soon to be fiancée of Richard Castle if he ever grows the nerve to ask her again.

She wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

The more he twists the ring, the more the knot of worry and fear grows inside her belly. Is he doing it on purpose? She can feel her blood pressure rising with each and every turn, the diamonds scraping across the thin webbing between her fingers.

"Kate?"

"Hmm," she replies, distracted, still too caught up in her distressing thoughts to really pay attention.

"Stop thinking so loud."

"I just…"

How does she tell him she wants him to ask her again? She'd _just _finished telling him he had to wait. She'd told him that he could ask again soon, but this was ridiculous. Wasn't it? How would he even know she was serious?

Again, he twists the ring. "What Kate? Just tell me. Nothing you can say can make me stop loving you. You know this."

Gah! He's right. She does.

She wishes she wasn't this way. She wishes she didn't have to stop and analyze each and every moment and look for ways that it can all go wrong. She wishes she could be more like him; fearless and open, heart on his sleeve.

But... Well, maybe she can be. He's always telling her that she's brave. But in matters of the heart, it's always been he that throws caution to the wind and goes for broke. Maybe it's her turn to take a leap and trust that he will catch her.

She places her hand upon his, stills his fingers before they can make the next turn. Gently she removes his hand and his face falls, as though he's bracing for bad news.

Shit. This isn't how she wants it to go, she needs to do this fast.

Quickly, she slides the ring off her finger, his eyes watching with barely concealed terror. She presses the ring into his palm and closes his fingers around the band, pressing it into his chest.

"Ask me again," she whispers.

His eyes widen, his heart pummels at the back of her hands from within his chest.

"Rick, ask me again," she repeats, staring into his eyes, trying to convey just how much she wants this. All of it. The good, the bad, she's in this.

Why wait?

"Kate?" he asks, his voice barely above a gravelly undertone. "Are you sure?"

"Castle," she smiles, gently inclining her head, urging him on. "Do you remember what I said about next time?"

She hadn't imagined 'next time' being sweaty and naked, mere hours after his last attempt. Still... she's literally laid bare before him, and he her. Somehow it's fitting.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; she pulls his hand holding the ring to her chest and lets him feel the matching staccato of her own heart. He opens his eyes and finally she sees it, the spark that's been missing despite all the progress they'd made today.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"

This time he's smiling and his face is a visage of hope. And just like that, the tightly coiled spring of worry releases and the pressure that is always in the back of her mind is replaced by an all-encompassing sense of joy.

This time, her answer comes easily.

"Yes, Castle, I'll marry you."

* * *

**Well, there ya have it. I gotta say, I'm kinda sad to see this story be over. It's the first thing longer than a one-shot that I've written in months and it felt good to have a little bit of mojo back. **

**To Becky: For flailing pre-finale with me and making me write my speculation. **

**To everyone else: For pushing me to continue and weave in canon once Watershed had aired and it was all wrong! (Okay, not _all._ I got the end location and the Martha chat right. Whoopsies on the 'late' thing.) It was a slog at times but I'm glad you made me stick with it.**

**To Avi: For being a perv and making me laugh and for being my bestest buddy above all else.**

**Finally, to Kellie: For being the best, most hilarious, most evil and most grammar Nazi of betas. Thank you. **

**To all who reviewed and followed and added to your favorites: I love you. But you still have time to leave me a review. It'd be a lovely parting gift. *wink wink* *nudge nudge* **

**I'll just be over here... manically refreshing my inbox. Moving on, nothing more to see here. **


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